


Uffi the Heartless

by XX_CALIBRE



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29679102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XX_CALIBRE/pseuds/XX_CALIBRE
Summary: He was Rued's lieutenant once, Eivor. Now, he is yours.
Relationships: Eivor (Assassin's Creed)/Other(s), Minor Eivor/Vili Hemmingsson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Prologue: Their Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keikei_firefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keikei_firefly/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He found him, bloody and broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need an Uffi visual? Visit this [link to find out!](https://xx-calibre.tumblr.com/tagged/uffi-the-heartless)
> 
> _Uffi the Heartless is the Jomvikingr that I designed for the game, I swear this all started because of their damn height difference._

East Anglia was _burning_.

Fire and smoke, its ash carried in the winds.

The smell of burning wood, melting iron, rotten flesh stung the air around Eivor as he took the main road. It seemed that Ravensthorpe only had a mere taste of the violence that threatened to rip Easy Anglia apart. As he rode, Sýnin stalked the skies. As he rode, death stalked the trees. Was this what it was like? A land with no king? Was it truly like that, to watch as terror and violence entering the land like a storm, a land that had no lord to protect its people?

East Anglia was being charred off the map.

Rued was her threat.

She was losing her villages. She was losing her people. She was losing her power. Theoford had been burnt to cinders, Northwic was barely left standing, and the farms turned to black. It seemed only Elmenham had some colour left, had some life left. Nevertheless, it was not the area Eivor stopped by, no. It had been Brisleah farm... or so it once was. The very land died, killed… set ablaze. Eivor stopped his horse and jumped off, his eyes affixed on the damage... the dead.

No weak-minded man could soak in the sight.

Families were struck down.

Husbands and wives stabbed and bled to death.

_Children_ , oh gods, Eivor did not want to know.

Men of a fyrd and people of Rued’s colours killed by each other.

It had been a massacre, no doubt.

No one was left alive. Nothing was left alive.

Eivor was drawn to their church. Forced open and roofless. He was drawn to the hall of their church. It smelled of iron and piss. What more did he expect? Survivors? Light? The lack of crimson? Only a fool would think so. Nothing was left. There was no such thing as warmth left inside... why would there be? There was no hearth, there was no fire. Just frost and the dead. All was cold stone, and yet all was nothing.

Brisleah farm, now a grave. Eivor only hoped the doors to Valhalla were opened for those who fought honourably. For those who never let their axes go.

Sýnin squawked above. His eyes followed her.

She circled once, twice, then made for a landing.

That was not common.

Eivor was then drawn to her direction, running through the blackened fields that were once green and beautiful under the light. Eivor was drawn to his raven, her white wings so beautiful under the moonlight. She landed—

That was no rock, that was no fallen tree.

A body.

Bloody and broken.

“Sýnin—”

She squawked, almost in warning. Her claws did not dig into the bloodied skin, her beak did not tear at the broken skin. She sat there in waiting. She was perched on its shoulder, her frozen state forced Eivor to hesitate.

The man she had herself perched upon was one of Rued’s men. He was no raider. He had been Rued’s lieutenant; his armour carried a difference no idiot could miss. Did he die in battle? Where was his axe? Why was he left here? Did Rued... dispose him?

There was a fire in his chest, a feeling Eivor never felt before. An anger so vile—no sane man would do such a thing. No sane ma—

_Ugh..._

Eivor’s hands were pulled away as the body underneath them started to shift. His eyes fluttered to a wide open—

He lived.

“Y—you’re alive,” said Eivor, unable to contain the gasp that fell from his lips. “Don’t move so suddenly, you’ve lost too much blood.”

“But… my Jarl…” the man had managed to wheeze, and it brought a pang to Eivor’s ribs.

Eivor stopped the broken and bloodied mam from rising. “He left you here for dead.” It was then that Sýnin flew from her perch as if satisfied. She squawked, leaving a trail of tiny white feathers as she took the skies again.

The man no longer held Eivor’s eyes with his own. He knew who Eivor meant. The man looked towards the star-filled sky, watching the feathers fall ever so gently. He already knew what his Jarl did to him, it seemed. Eivor noticed the way the flash of life disappeared from the honey-brown irises. The warmth Eivor saw for such a brief moment, gone. Taken. Stolen.

This was bigger than Eivor bargained for.

“Was this expected?”

The man no longer looked towards the star-filled sky. The man held Eivor’s eyes with his own. The warmth never did return during that moment. “I will not lie to you, stranger, but I have always been broken. It was only by the matter of time, I was only a tool for Rued Jarl.”

There was a fire in his chest. The feeling so vile, it burned in his heart and its heat flushed his chest. East Anglia had been burnt, charred to a crisp. Men, women, children—all taken by those who were under Rued’s command. Under Rued’s control. Rued’s lieutenant laid tired in Eivor’s arms. He should kill this one. He needed to murder this one in cold blood. He may have been commanded but his actions were his own. He had no axe, he would have no Valhalla to enter. But no fire was directed to the man. No fire in his heart wanted his death.

Odd.

“What’s your name?” Asked Eivor, whistling for his mount.

“I never had one,” replied he, suppressing a groan as he was pulled from the ground and against his wishes. The man who had found him was strong, battle-hardened. A spark of envy, hope. It bubbled inside. On instinct, his broken arm was hugged by his frame, and the white raven which perched itself on one shoulder now made rest on the other shoulder. “I was known as Heartless.”

The body behind him was warm, solid. It seemed the man behind him had seen more wars than he had.

“I’m Eivor of the Raven Clan,” added the man who say behind the one called Heartless, tugging the reigns to start their journey towards his home. “The clan you will be serving for.”

Heartless lets his eyes fall shut and the corner of his lips lift.

_Good._


	2. Chapter One : His Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He found him, following after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need an Uffi visual? Visit this [link to find out!](https://xx-calibre.tumblr.com/tagged/uffi-the-heartless)
> 
> _Uffi the Heartless is the Jomvikingr that I designed for the game, I swear this all started because of their damn height difference._

It had been a while since Heartless had settled into Ravensthorpe, making himself at home by being what he was best as: Eivor’s lieutenant. Often they would raid England, pillaging for her supplies and burning her homes. The only difference? They never batted an eye towards her civilians. An unspoken agreement, it was, to never harm the men, women, and children who did not carry a weapon.

So much different from the man he used to follow.

That man who is now dead in East Anglia, Rued. Killed by Eivor, himself. Heartless had the best seat, watching his previous Jarl be cut down by Eivor despite being stopped by Oswald. That was not their way, being merciful.

Heartless was glad Rued was gone.

But the nightmares did not follow.

Almost every night did he wake, bathing in his own sweat. Almost every night did he have to sleep somewhere else in hopes the other raiders could not hear his heart hammer against his chest, or maybe his silent cries in the ungodly hours of the night. Almost every night did he hear the everlasting screams of women and children, begging him to spare their husbands, their fathers.

Almost every night did he have to watch himself cut down family after family with a manic sneer plastered on his face.

He needed to visit Valka. It was of secret did he visit her hut, begging her to make the dreams stop. She did not hesitate and in exchange of her secrecy, he had to stop raiding for—

“A week?!” He hissed, clutching the bowl as if it had been a preposterous command. “I cannot do that to him!”

“But you must,” she added, only a split second after he spoke. “It is the only way for your body and your mind to heal. Unless you truly wish f—”

“No.” He sliced through her sentence like a hot knife on butter. “I… I’ll see what I can do.”

You see, Eivor nor any other raiders knew what Rued had done to him. He never wanted them to know. All he could hear was his tormentor’s laugh, all he could feel was his hand breaking the tiny bones in his hands, his toes. All to make him stronger, or so claimed that mind-sick man.

Was Heartless becoming mind-sick, too?

_Don’t you dare think of leaving my side until I am done with you, Heartless._

Flashes of his face—

_Do you want me to throw you away like what I have done to your brothers, hm?_

Flashes of those he killed—

_I want you to break for me, lieutenant. I want you to b l e e d._

Heartless drew a shaky breath and left Valka’s hut, the brew shaking violently in his clutch. He was starting to fear for a man who was already dead. So, so dead. As if he knew Rued remained as a spirit, wanting to come back to haunt him for not dying when he was told to.

He needed to get away. He needed to leave.

He had to find some place quiet. He had to be alone.

The wind took him away, without a look backwards.

But it seemed the very same wind told Sýnin something was wrong. She soared the skies with a shake, pecking Eivor and squawking at him to wake up and find the man she had trusted from Day One.

Eivor did not wonder much past Sýnin’s weird behaviour, only cocking a brow in question when she left in a hurry. The only reason Eivor knew was when Ravensthorpe’s second-in-command was told by Randvi to set sail to Snotinghamscire to meet up with Vili and Hemming Jarl when he was told his lieutenant vanished. Eivor nor any other raider knew where the lieutenant went, all having said ‘no’ to Eivor’s question, asking for his lieutenant’s whereabouts. There was no possibility he could have deserted them. No Jomsvikingr of the Raven Clan would never _dream_ of such a thing… surely, he couldn’t have…

No, he was coming home and Eivor was going to wait for him.

One day became two, two became four…

It was on the seventh day, did Ravensthorpe watch their second-in-command almost break planks under his heavy steps, demanding where his lieutenant had vanished. The mint-frost of Eivor’s eyes were a solid red in fury. He had never felt what it was like to lose a Raven Clan member under such circumstances. He thought he knew his lieutenant, but as each hour passed, he realised he knew nothing under the helm.

“Where is he?” He bit down a growl, almost cornering Bragi by the docks.

Bragi raised his hands in surrender, fear swimming in those eyes of his. “Eivor, please. We do not know. Last we saw, he went towards Valka’s hut.”

Eivor had no time nor did he want to barge into Valka’s hut. Surely there was _someone else_ in his barracks who knew. He was going to get an answer soon enough, and an answer did he get after the red of his eyes turned a bloody crimson.

Heartless stormed towards the north, said one, succumbing to the anger in Eivor’s eyes.

Heartless stormed towards the north, said one, having watched him climb the range of mountains without a single look over his shoulder.

Now, Eivor had stormed towards the north, following his lieutenant, knowing something was chasing him. Something was eating at him. He just hoped… no, Heartless couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Obviously, he would’ve sensed something wrong by then. Maybe a tingle of skin, maybe a rush of his heart. Yet no ill feeling settled.

The sun shone above him, almost burning his skin from its place so high in the sky. The further Eivor climbed the hill, he saw no disturbance in the grass. There should’ve been something. Had none been here? Had he been lied to? Did Heartless not come by this way? Frustration was like a fire in his chest, spinning on his heel to return home until a voice called out to him.

“My Lord?”

His lieutenant hadn’t learnt to not call Eivor by that title, so Eivor sighed, turned back round to find Heartless standing a few feet in front of him with his head cocked to the side.

Sýnin no longer commanded the skies then, slowing down to land atop Heartless’ shoulder and rub her crown against the underside of his chin.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” Eivor was questioned.

“I thought I had to kill a Jomsvikingr who abandoned his duties,” said he, and yet with no tone of aggression.

The lieutenant shuffled nervously, rubbing his nape. “I apologise, my Lord. I was stolen by a thought, and I thought it ill of me to be of no use.”

Eivor cocked a brow. “Does this thought have something to do with Rued?” By the way in which Heartless jolted to a freeze, Wolf-Kissed knew he was right. Eivor pulled a sigh from his lungs, his hand reaching out to grasp Heartless’ shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze. “Do not worry about him. He’s gone.”

_But the scars still remain, Eivor._

OH, how he wished he could tell him the truth but the words were stuck. He fumbled for a nod. “Yes, Sir. He bothers me no longer.” Heartless opted for a smile then, the tips of his lips lifting to form the smallest of smiles. He let his shoulders sag, a heavy weight Rued left him disappearing. Despite the shake of his shoulder, his Lord’s hand was still affixed on his shoulder, and his grasp tightened. Through his helm’s eye sockets, he watched as Eivor’s jaw tightened. He wanted to say something… was he going to let Heartless go? Did he have to prepare for the wor—

“Do not run from me again.” His eyes widened; he missed the way a grin had rested upon Eivor’s pink lips. “Let’s take you back home.”

Heartless opted for another smile then, this time, the smile reached his eyes though Eivor could never see. His heart leaped, beating wild under the fur of his Galloglach cloak.

“Of course, my Lord.”


	3. Chapter Two : The Shield (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did it, he became his shield.

There was nothing Heartless wouldn't do for Eivor.

That did include taking an arrow... or several.

It was accompanying Tryggve down the river when Heartless took a blow from a Pict’s arrow. It was accompanying Tryggve’s envoy when Heartless was the closest to Eivor. He knew he was Eivor’s fastest man. He knew he was supposed to be Eivor’s shield when he had none.

His legs were quick, dodging out of his place on the longship. He was quick, whipping out his axes to deflect the angry barrage of arrows. From behind him, Eivor was quick to snarl at Heartless, telling him that he was fine and he needed to get back into place. They both knew he was lying when an arrow had lodged itself through his right gauntlet when Eivor finally had an arm poking out from behind the grand wall that was Heartless.

Eivor had his eyes wide open in surprise. Heartless had enough surprise in his own eyes, too.

Heartless barely had time to _react_ , knowing an arrow—one after another—was piercing through skin and flesh. The one in his leg was nearing his bone, he could feel it scratching against the wall of muscle, driving itself deeper into him as he kept putting weight on his leg.

Nothing was said between the two of them. Nothing could be said. Not when Eivor sent a disapproving look towards Heartless. Eivor leaped away to cut down their numbers by the swing of his weapon. His movements were so clean and swift, it was as if he never left the safety of his longship.

But Heartless had no time to spare, bleeding on the ship and coating the wood with hot crimson, Heartless felt his adrenaline deplete too fast for comfort. His breathing became ragged and cold, he started to shake from a chill that was too hot to be winter.

“You are an _idiot_ ,” said Eivor, clicking his tongue as he tugged the arrow lodged in his leg. A flicker of anxiety washed over his face like a wave, darkening as he realised more were lodged in his shoulder, forearm, and abdomen. Heartless was going to need more than makeshift bandages, and Eivor felt sick to the core. This was the reason why Eivor did not like the idea of his own lieutenant.

For once, he needed Heartless to be selfish.

Just once.

The last time Heartless did this… _no, do not think about it. It’s wiped from your memory. It no longer exists. That moment you almost lost him, Eivor. Do not think. Do not remember._

When Eivor docked the ship, Tryggve made no time for Eivor to remain. On instinct, his eyes went to his lieutenant. He saw his lieutenant huddled by Bragi as he started to shake violently against the snow. His body almost lunged back toward Heartless but that look on his face told Eivor not to.

What was that pang to his chest?

Heartless remained on the ship as Eivor mounted a horse to catch up to Hemming Jarl and Vili.

“Was it wise to let him go just like that?” Erlingr, another one of Eivor’s raiders, had spoken up. “He wanted to come and help—”

“Red,” Heartless almost growled. “Hemming Jarl needs Eivor more than I do.”

Was that the case? No, not entirely.

Hemming Jarl was an ox, Clan Hemming needn’t another man joining their ranks against the Picts. It was only a sight to see Vili Hemmingson had finally grown into a fine man with a fine figure. It was no surprise Eivor fell for Vili; it was no surprise… Hemming’s death aside, his time with Vili has been… good. Fun, even.

What if they hadn’t been separated by the North Sea so early in their lives?

Vili had even thought… of what they might have been to each other.

Eivor was not going to lie, he, too, had thought very fondly.

And often enough it sometimes seemed Vili never left.

Maybe he never did.

For one night did they let their flame flicker momentarily. For one night did they forget the responsibility that weighed upon Vili’s shoulders. For one night did they share each other’s body warmth, long-needed kisses… long-awaited touches and bites.

Sunniva came by after Tryggve was pronounced Jarl of Snotinghamscire, alerting Eivor that Heartless survived his wounds.

Vili knew the look that swam in Eivor’s eyes. An unknown longing. It was there, only for a moment, when Vili had Eivor in his clutch. It was no wonder that Eivor seemed farther than he thought… than he felt. It was no surprise he left Vili follow, talking about who exactly this ‘Heartless’ man was.

And a man he was.

He stood taller than Vili. Much, _much_ taller. Unlike Vili’s seas for eyes, Uffi had their autumn. Out of respect did half of his face remain concealed; not a shock to Eivor, it seemed. A side glance did Vili watch Eivor with, watching the way his hands made their way to clasp Heartless’ own bigger pair. Heartless shared a tattoo: its pattern, so beautiful on his skin. Was it the mystery behind this man? Or was it his gentleness? Maybe the sound of his voice? Or was it the way in which he smiled?—Like he could have broken a thousand hearts by how beautiful it appeared.

What made Eivor so attracted?

Eivor took his time between the moment he found Heartless to when he once again met the Hemming Clan—to when Heartless almost claimed himself a traitor to the Raven Clan. Wolf-Kissed took his time to learn who his lieutenant was, and he was glad for it. From what he had learnt, Heartless was _the_ lieutenant. Killing and hacking for his Lord, protecting and keeping his eye trained for his Lord. Everything was for the man he served. It had been Rued once, and now, it was Eivor.

The only thing he hadn’t managed to grasp knowledge for, was his face and true name. Had it been marred by scars? Had his name been wiped from memory? Or did his face never once become important, just like his name?

_I would tell you if I remembered,_ said Heartless one night, watching the stars as they sat by the waterfall. _But no name comes to mind. My parents died when I was barely a winter old. It was from then, I killed for sport._

“Mind if I stop your thoughts for a second, Eivor?”

Eivor jerked back into reality, watching Vili settle on the stool by Eivor in the longhouse.

“Welcome back,” he greeted, cocking a sneer in utmost amusement.

“Sorry,” Eivor apologised, rubbing his nape. “It is not of me to be like this.”

Vili chuckled in agreement, nodding as he moved to grab a mug of mead. “No, it is not… but I am glad you are thinking. Remember the one time you wanted to kill some of Kjotve’s men but you had _no_ clue as to how us, mere children, could even try to kill a fully grown man? Well, a dozen of them, in the least?”

“In my defence, I asked _you_ to tell me what we should do.”

“No, no… no, I do not remember that at all.” Vili cocked a sneer after that sentence, resting his chin atop his palm. “In fact, you skipped the whole thinking and planning part and you bolted into their camp with the fiercest roar that could wake up the entire Hiellboer settlement. Did Eivor Wolf-Kissed kill any of them? No.” Vili ignored the glare. “So, I’m very glad you are thinking for once—but what _are_ you thinking? Surely it cannot be any battle-plans?”

Wolf-Kissed shook his head. “No.”

Hemmingson cocked a brow. “No?” Now that was a surprise.

“It’s about my lieutenant.”

“Care to elaborate?” Now that was _not_ a surprise.

“He’s... avoiding me.”

“Bah,” Vili groaned, waving his hand dismissively. “He is not like you, Eivor. He needs some time to be at peace with himself, or maybe he’s grown tired of your shit.” Vili ignored the next glare. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you talk to him instead of moping in here?”

A good idea, but not one that Eivor should pursue. Erlingr and the rest almost barred Eivor from entering the barracks. _Barred_ him from the barracks. **_Barred_ ** . Scratch Heartless avoiding him, he doesn’t want Eivor _near_ anyone.

Vili sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll take a look and come back.”

Never had he seen such a bright look on Eivor’s face.

Did he realise that he had fallen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erlingr belongs to **[Keikei_firefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keikei_firefly)**


End file.
